


Lambs To The Butcher

by Tatsumaki_sama



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Family, Gen, Murder, Tarsus IV
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-14
Updated: 2013-06-14
Packaged: 2017-12-14 23:56:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/842898
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tatsumaki_sama/pseuds/Tatsumaki_sama
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He knew it when his clothes got baggy. He knew it when all they ate were from stale cans. He knew it when they called his name from the list and took him away to be slaughtered. An insight into Tarsus IV.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lambs To The Butcher

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted when the first movie came out.

Jim had suspected something when Kodos ordered that everyone on the planet get a blood test the day before. His aunt and uncle are suspicious too, though they wouldn't reveal their worries to him or his cousin.

Food was running thin and dry. His aunt had to fight to get some precious cans of food at the market. She had the black eye and broken wrist to prove it. And even so, it was not enough. His cousin complained that they had to eat canned vegetables for the past month. His uncle uncharacteristically snapped at him and told him to eat his food or else he wouldn't get anything for the next few days. Grudgingly, he shoved the food into his mouth and left the table without another word. His uncle sat back down with a sigh and ate more slowly, savouring each bite. Jim ate his quietly, ignoring the staleness and how much he hated those canned vegetables with a passion.

At night, Jim could sometimes hear his aunt's muffled sobs, while his uncle tried to soothe her. He bit back his own fear and tried to go back to sleep, where he dreamed of his mother's cooking back on Earth and he didn't have to worry about a shortage of food or his aunt sewing up his baggy clothing.

One day, soliders arrived with a list of names. Those on the list will go with the government to be "taken care of". No questions asked. Kirk bitterly wondered if it was to be fed or eliminated. Judging from the skeptical, worried looks on his aunt and uncle's faces, along with several others, they probably thought the same thing.

Some families weren't called. When they tried to argue, even plead in desperation of being left behind, they were merely shoved back by the soldiers. They stayed in the town, trembling frightened figures in the gloom, wondering what their fate would be.

Crammed together in the smelly, tight-knit truck, Jim believed it would have been better to be left behind in the town. At least he wasn't a trapped rat in a sinking ship, figuratively speaking.

When they arrived to their destination, they were let out of the many trucks, herded towards different warehouses. Jim curiously peered at them. They were crudely and hastily made, looking as if they could collapse any minute. Some were burning, the smell of ash and smoke burning his throat. When he passed one nearby, he could have sworn he saw a bloody arm sticking out of them.

Without warning, he stumbled over a ditch and he fell back, away from his aunt, being pressed by the swarms of strangers huddled against him. His cousin noticed that he wasn't with them and shouted out his name in panic. His aunt and uncle spun around, fighting the crowd to get to him, calling for him. The soldiers barked orders and yanked them into the closest warehouse. Jim, overwhelmed by the swarming crowd and shoved aside by the soldiers, faintly saw desperate blue eyes before they were swept away by the soldiers and into the warehouse. With a measure of dread, he realized it would be the last time he would ever see her, his uncle or cousin again.

He was finally pushed into the last warehouse. People murmured and whispered, nervously sitting on the filthy floor at the insistance of the soldiers. The warehouse smelled of sweat and fear, mingling together in a terrible combination.

Then, Governor Kodos himself appeared. The people in the front jumped up, angrily yelling, demanding why they were brought here and if they were really going to be taken care of. The soldiers pushed them back down. Kodos raised his hands for silence and they all intently listened to hear what he had to offer them. He spoke to them, assured, powerful and compelling.

 _"The revolution is successful. But survival depends on drastic measures. Your continued existence represents a threat to the well-being of society. Your lives mean slow death to the more valued members of the colony. Therefore, I have no alternative but to sentence you to death. Your execution is so ordered, signed Kodos, Governor of Tarsus IV._ "

He said it so casually and in a tone that suggested he had announced it many times before. He looked almost bored.

For a minute, nobody moved or said a thing. In the silence, Jim could hear the harsh panting and thumping hearts in the warehouse. Or perhaps, it was merely his own breathing and heart he was hearing.

Then, the tranquility was broken and chaos broke out. Screams and wails rang about in Jim's ears, as he buffeted between the waves of panicking, incoherent people, with only one thing in mind: escape. Those that managed to break rank and ran towards the doors were brought down. There was only more screaming, more pandemonium, more spilled blood and more gunshots in the air. And Kodos simply watched from the stage in cold calculation.

They worked effectively and quickly, going from row to row systemically with barely even a flinch or hesitation. Amidst the screams inside, Jim could faintly hear similar screams and gunshots from the other warehouses. He was disgusted to realize that they must have had done this countless of other times on the other less "valued members of the colony". The two hundred people in this warehouse were nothing but the last of the lambs to be slaughtered.

Some threw themselves upon the feet of the soldiers, begging, whimpering, sobbing. They are cut down with just as much ruthlessness and without pity. Others cursed them, cursed at Kodos, cursed at this whole damn genocide, raging and spitting. They are shot more repeatedly and with more ferocity than the others. More than a few simply glared at their executioners with a cold stare as a last act of defiance. They died with the contempt still gleamming from their eyes.

Finally, they were down to the last row. They exchanged the used phrasers for new ones, perhaps giving them the last moment to say their prayers and be done with it. The woman next to Jim certainly did. He could feel her hot, frantic words against his arm. The boy, looking no more than seven, shook violently on Jim's other side, tears steaming down his thin, pale cheeks. He looked like he could vomit if he could.

He was surprised that he recognized the kid. His name was Kevin. His aunt had once pointed out the bright, talkative child, who was holding his mother's hand when they were walking to the store. Hard to believe that the once smiling, lively boy was now crying and shaking like a leaf and about to die with the rest of them. And even harder to believe that it was only a year ago when that happened.

The soldiers were done with their guns and now advanced on them. The praying woman's breath hitched for a second, before resuming her prayers, much more faster this time. The rest were grim and quiet, resigned to their fate. The gunshots and thudding of bodies continued.

It was now down to the final nine. Starting with Kevin. The boy quivered worse than ever. He hiccopped at the impending soldier and weakly sobbed out for his mother. Unable to watch the poor boy, Jim gazed around the warehouse, at the rotting bodies, at the lifeless faces that laid on the ground, forgotten. Four thousand of them sent to their deaths. And not one of them will be avenged.

Something stirred within him. The thought that Kodos and his men will get away from this massacre scot-free burned deeply in his chest. The despair he felt ebbed away in his newfound determination.

He stood up.

Momentarily distracted, the soldier withdrew the phraser from Kevin, who let out a choked whimper of relief. Jim had no idea why he stood up. It may have been to spare Kevin a few more seconds of life, while ending his own precious seconds.

" What are you doing?" one soldier demanded, pointing a phraser at him.

In another situation, he probably would have bolted, fighting and clawing his way to escape. But there was no strength left in his bones. This was all he could do.

" My name is James Tiberius Kirk," he declared loudly, his unwavering voice ringing about in the silent warehouse. He glared at the dumbstruck soldiers, at Kodos, who still silently watched, and at the rest of the gaping prisoners. " And I am _not_ afraid of death."

The soldiers were more than surprised. They had been cussed at, cursed at and spat at, but they never had someone stand up literally before them and announce that he wasn't going to lay down and get shot down like a dog. He was going to die on his feet, like a man, like the human being that he was.

In some ways, Jim envisioned himself like his father, the hero of the Starfleet. His father didn't let his ship go down without a fight and neither was he.

A lone soldier approached him and placed the end of the phraser between Jim's eyes. He didn't even flinch. His last thoughts were towards his mother. He tried to remember her golden hair shining in the sun, how her voice beamed with joy and pride as she showed him pictures of his father, the lullabies she sang to him before he went to bed, the way her hazel eyes, flecked with green, glowed when he came back with his perfect test, how she used to stroke his cheek when he was crying, the soft, gentle words she used to say -

The gunshot Jim was expecting did not come from the one digging into his forehead. It came from the one held by a Starfleet officer.

The soldier dropped without a word and a mass uproar then occurred.

Soldiers shouting. And falling. Thundering of footsteps. Phrasers firing. Screaming.

Jim got down on his hands and knees, shoving the closest person to him - Kevin down face forward on the dirt. He ignored Kevin's muffled yells, more focused on surviving. He covered their ears as best as he could, eyes closed shut, hoping that none of the phrasers would hit them.

Minutes later (possibly hours), Jim raised his head.

The remaining soldiers are rounded up, carefully watched over. One Starfleet officer stared at the warehouse and dead bodies in horror and revulsion. " What the hell is this?" he said, looking sick.

It was then that they noticed the nine survivors crouching on the ground, filthy and frightfully thin, but very much alive.

They snapped to the medical officers to get them out of them. Some officers simply picked up the skeletons of the survivors and lifted them out of the gory wreckage. They were brought immediately to the medical bay of the ships, checked over, fed and watered. In some cases, like the praying woman, they needed to be tied for their own safety, as she kept hysterically laughing and fighting off the doctors and nurses, shrieking for someone to save her from the monsters.

Jim simply let them have their way with him. He ate when offered. He slept when ordered. It was done mechanical and simple. Some doctors were appalled by the blankness of his face, no fear, anger or desperation crawled through it. It was as if emotion was wiped clean out of him. When they tried to prod him into talking, he remained silent, only nodding or shaking his head or shrugging listlessly. He was dimly aware of how it frightened them.

He was still trying to comprehend the fact that he was alive.

Soon, commanding officers appeared and asked them questions gently but firmly. They wanted to know who did this and how did it come to it. However, it was clear the most of them are not in a clear state of mind. The praying woman still needed to be tied down, though her ravings had stopped. Kevin needed to be watched constantly after he screamed himself awake from the nightmares of rotting hands and his dead mother's eyes.

Jim spoke first. As if he had suddenly awakened from his daze. To their amazement, he recounted to them in perfect detail and precision how Kodos had ordered them to be slaughtered, how four thousand people were mowed down like they were worthless animals, how he was dragged away from his family, how he saw that he was getting too thin for his clothes, how he ate nothing but stale vegetables day after day, how he realized that he was going to die at age thirteen.

His fists shook in his lap, but his blue eyes was shockingly clear and collected. He chuckled briefly at the stunned officers. " What kind of man does that?" he asked them, his lips twisted in a cruel smile, as he chuckled again. Though this time, there was no mirth in it. Only helpless anguish.

The word of one teenager didn't confirm Kodos's involvement, though it certainly spurned them harder to find out the bastard who did it.

After Jim's confession, the rest slowly followed. Kevin mumbled his, fidgeting under the sympathetic gazes of the officers, often looking at Jim for support. The praying woman whispered as she recounted the deaths of her husband and children and all she knew, only pausing when offered a tissue. The others bitterly said their stories, some breaking down in tears in relieved joy and agony. They had survived, but at a cost.

They later told that they found Kodos' burnt remains. The praying woman gulped and unashamedly wept. One of the men sagged to the ground in relief, his shoulders shaking. Though Kodos' quick death was not enough to avenge his crimes (during the long nights, he thought of all the other painful ways Kodos could have died), Jim was satisfied for now.

The nightmare was over.

He stayed with the other survivors in the medical ward until they have recovered physically and psychologically, deemed fit to return to society. Kevin stuck close to Jim, eyes shining in admiration. The others regarded him as a hero, the one who stood up to Kodos and his soldiers, giving the Starfleet enough time to arrive. Jim wasn't sure if he had entirely made a difference. He wondered if more would have been saved if he stood up sooner.

Three weeks later, he was teaching Kevin how to deal cards when he heard a familar name outside the door.

" He's here, Winona. He's a fighter, that boy. Takes right after George."

There she was. Standing in the doorway. Jim stayed where he was, not believing his eyes.

Her eyes were glassy, red around the edges and oddly puffy. Her golden hair was a tangle of a mess of knots and it looked as if it hadn't been washed for days. She was thin and pale, a shadow of the glowing, gentle woman he knew before. But the moment she saw him, a smile dawned on her face and he suddenly recognized his mother.

Jim leaped over the bed, knocking over a chair, in his haste to reach his mother, forgetting the weakness of his knobby legs. She hugged him tight, weeping, breaking free of her embrace to inspect his hollow cheeks and ragged eyes. " Jim," she whispered, smiling through the tears. " My baby boy."

He buried himself in her hair. She smelled of cooking, flowers and home. He croaked out a sob and said only one word. But it was enough for her.

" Mom."


End file.
